


The Unhallowed Vine

by TrashqueenofAngmar91



Series: Of Shadows and Tenderness [12]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Horror, In which the Nazgûl drink people, It ain’t even Spooptober but I had to do it, I’m Sorry Tolkien, Major AU, Original Character Death(s), Reader is a woman, Reader is of the race of Man, Sauron Being an Asshole, Seriously that one quote from the book made me cook up this horrid thing, Soul Bond, The Silmarillion References, Vampires, creative liberties were taken
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25887679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrashqueenofAngmar91/pseuds/TrashqueenofAngmar91
Summary: “... And at all times they smell the blood of living things, desiring and hating it.”A disturbing reimagining of the Nazgûl based on that quote from the book.Not part of the series’ canon events.
Relationships: Witch-King of Angmar/Reader
Series: Of Shadows and Tenderness [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/806124
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	1. The Vine of Morgoth

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me I’m back on my bullshit. This idea wouldn’t leave me alone so I figured, oh well. I’ve written weird shit before so screw it LOL.
> 
> But yeah, got the idea while reading through “The Fellowship of the Ring”. Honestly, the Nazgul fascinate me and while the Peter Jackson movies did a great job with them, they weren’t as scary as they are in the books. I’m trying to aim make them as creepy as they are in there. Or maybe a bit more~
> 
> Hope you guys like it and it’s not too crappy or whatnot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Such grisly rumors needed to be investigated. He was not being honest.

Chapter 1 The Vine of Morgoth

What was in his vessel was not wine.

At first glance, it looked like it but it was not. Nor did it smell like it. Sometimes, it smelled putrid and looked almost black. Other times, it was red like the fruit of the vine but its aroma was…uncharacteristic. Sometimes, wine smelled sweet or earthy or depending on the grape, bitter or dry. This did not smell like a grape you knew. No, this was something else.

Whatever tonic he drank, it unsettled you. It was foul and too mysterious for your liking and comfort.

But what you couldn't comprehend was the fact that he was drinking. They weren't supposed to consume neither liquid or solid. They were undead, unseen things driven by the malicious will of their lord and master. Previously, you deemed they subsisted off of the fear of the weak and fed on the shattered hopes of their victims. That was what they were supposed to feed off of, if anything. But this was different.

What you were served was wine, there was no doubt in your mind. This draught of the Nazgûl was something wholly different. And neither was it something you were keen on trying.

" _Berwûld, what type of drink is that? How can he consume it?_ "

" _It is something you should never try, my lady._ "

" _But what is it?_ "

" _It is a draught he and his brothers drink. No other creature can stomach it. That is the only earthly thing they require_."

You could tell the Orc was withholding information from you. You persisted and questioned him multiple times about the fell liquid the Witch-king imbibed. He seemed evasive and you could tell he was loathed to converse about the matter altogether. In fact, Berwûld seemed noticeably uncomfortable about the subject. You suspected this might've been particularly worrisome if even he was unwilling to disclose much to you.

One day, he relented to you. Berwûld told you it was from a very particular vine. It was called the Vine of Morgoth. He said it was a drink only meant to be drunk by the nine, condemned kings and no other beings. That was something you've never even heard of.

This macabre mystery pestered you ever since you arrived at Minas Morgul some time ago. Every few nights, the creature you wedded would sip at the reddish or blackish fluid. He never offered you a glass of it.

" _Berwûld said this 'Vine of Morgoth' is only something only you and your brethren drink. Is that true?_ "

" _Indeed. And it is for us Nine and us alone._ "

" _How have I never heard of such a thing before?_ "

" _Perhaps your kinsmen deemed it wise to not let that fact endure. It was forgotten long ago._ "

He refused to elaborate as well. You lived with him for over a year and you were starved for an answer to this conundrum. This morbid fascination wouldn't go away on its own. One way or another, you would get to the bottom of this mystery. You were confided to this dark realm and as its queen, you were determined to decipher every perversion and secret within the citadel of the dead.

You did some sneaking and sleuthing at first. You lingered outside of the mess halls and areas where the Orcs congregated or socialized with one another when they weren't on duty. Perhaps these foot soldiers of the Dark Lord had a better idea of this mystery than you did. Sometimes you spent hours hiding in a darkened corner or underneath a pile of rubbish or rubble, eavesdropping on the Orcs in an effort to understand the mystery better.

" _Hey, have you seen Teeg lately? I haven't seen him for a few days. Did he get transferred to Cirith Ungol? Did that Spider get him?_ "

" _We won't be seeing him anymore. He accidentally shattered a newly crafted Morgul blade. He was chosen for the Vine. Let's just shut up and drink to him._ "

There were a few Orcs who asked about their friend or comrades, wondering what became of them and then one of their number would say something along the same lines. Most Orcs that went missing in this place were chosen for the Vine. And from what it sounded like, they weren't returning. It was a finality.

There was also another puzzle of sorts. You had only seen this once before but you swore you saw a band of Men in shackles being let into the citadel. You deemed you were merely seeing things from afar but during your many spying sessions on the Orcs, you found out that you were witnessing the truth. People of your race were coming in but you never heard of or seen them.

" _You see, they don't like us very much. Apparently, we taste bad to them but we're a last resort for them._ "

" _That would explain what happened to all those slaves. They weren't given to us for target practice, sport or anything like that! No, those greedy Shriekers used them for the Vine! They cut them, dried them out and threw out what was left!_ "

" _They could've at least let us eat the flesh left over! Rats and moldy bread gets old! We do we gotta do to get some quality meat around here?! It ain't fair!_ "

So it seemed that Orcs and Men were disappearing to satisfy this ghoulish hunger that the Nazgûl had. You had your suspicions and theories before you began your spying tenure but hearing these things made it all the more horrid and harrowing. They were being harvested. They were transformed into a drink.

Anymore, you dreaded having to blend in and overhear these grim and disturbing conversations but you were driven. You had to learn as much as you could. Your curiosity had to be sated. You had to understand.

But there was one conversation in particular that you wished you were out of ear-shot of. It haunted you.

" _The Morgul lady is on borrowed time."_

" _What makes you so sure of that? The Witch-king officially made her his wench. She's our queen, whether we like it or not!_ "

" _I overheard a few of the Shriekers talking amongst each other a few days earlier. They're getting impatient. They want to use her for the Vine!_ "

" _They must be stupid. When the lady first came here, the Witch-king had to seal his chambers to keep them away. She didn't know about it because he wants to keep her in the dark. He fancies her as his special toy._ "

" _They want her blood! I think they mean to sneak in when the Witch-king ain't around and slit her like a stuck pig! She's a woman and from what I've heard, they like their blood a lot! Tastes better than the male!_ "

" _I guess we're lucky because we ain't as appetizing as Men_."

" _I'm thinking that the Witch-king means to not share with the others. I think he wants her as a special treat. That's why she's been around so long! He's pampering her and giving her good food because it'll make her taste better for the Vine! The others are getting angry and restless!_ "

" _Then what do we do? Should we tell the Witch-king that the other Nazgûl want to drain her?_ "

" _That might be a good idea! If we tell on the others, we'll get on his good side! He won't use us for the Vine! But… then the others might find out we told the Witch-king about their plot. Then they might kill us!_ "

" _Huh…good point. Maybe we shouldn't say anything. Maybe it's best to not stick our noses into business that ain't our own._ "

" _Fair enough!_ "

Your contact with the other Nazgûl was very limited. They kept away from you and you presumed it was because they didn't wish to invoke the wrath of their chief. It was partly true. If these gruesome horrors were true, then it made your tenure here all the more nightmarish. They wanted to harvest you and they were becoming displeased with waiting.

Then this all begged another question. When would he feed on you?

That was something you weren't going to wait to find out. You had to make sure this was actually true. You had to validate your observations and make sure this wasn't some fabulously overblown rumor.

The Witch-king had treated you well during your entire stay in Minas Morgul. It did seem like he placed value on you and there was no denying that. But those terrible things you heard caused you to sow seeds of doubt in your heart. Perhaps this was a deadly trap. Maybe he was planning on using you for his drink.

You couldn't go to him and ask him. He was already evasive about his curiously colored and smelling wine so you knew he would continue to be avoidant. This seemed like one secret he wasn't keen on divulging to you. You needed to find this out on your own. That was the only way that you would get your unfiltered and nefarious answer.

The truth was what you sought and you would find it out no matter what…

(…)

Again, you mentally recited the information you collected during your many surveillance sessions. According to the Orcs, there was a lone doorway situated on the east side of the grand mess hall. Beyond that door was a stone stairwell that led into the bowels of Minas Morgul. At the bottom of those stairs was a long corridor which ended with another door. And behind that door was where the Vine of Morgoth was stored.

You decided against bringing a torch with you. The only thing you would bring with you was a simple dagger just in case if things became sour. You feared that any sort of light in those dark, cold corridors would give your position away. The darkness would aid you in this task. It would conceal you, so long as nothing else could spot you before you could see them.

Night had fallen over Minas Morgul and the atmosphere was even heavier and gloomier than it was during the day. Your eyes had since adjusted to the dark and it would be to your advantage. Hopefully, you would be able to navigate this purported, unfamiliar area and conclude your investigations. Now that you were on the cusp of discovery, you couldn't back down. Your life was possibly in the balance and you had to figure out your next course of action.

Luckily, the mess hall was completely empty. Most of the time, there were a few Orcs feasting on whatever they could scrounge up, but on this night, it was deserted. It was ideal.

The way to the easterly door was unobstructed and you hurried over to it, making sure you were unseen. As quietly as possible, you fiddled with the door handle, testing it. To your surprise, it was open. It was a welcoming blessing and you opened the door a crack. You slid through the crack you made, making sure you could slide your body through it seamlessly. When you did that, you softly closed the door behind you.

The hallway you were in was plunged into darkness but fortunately, there were lit torches. They were spaced out about twenty feet apart from one another so it would be enough for you to navigate.

As you processed your environment, you became aware of some unusual smell. It smelled moist and warm. Nervously, your stomach churned but you refortified yourself and pressed onwards.

The stairs. You had to find the stairs.

As softly as you could, you walked along, making your noise as minimal as possible. You kept one hand on the hilt of your dagger and experimentally put one foot in front of the other, trying to make sure you wouldn't trip over anything in the dankness of the hallway.

Luckily, the hall wasn't long and you soon found yourself at the top of the stairs. There were some torches that were also lit as the stairs descended so you could see where you were going. You took a deep breath and proceeded.

" _Are you alright?_ "

" _I'm fine. I'm only tired. I will retire early._ "

" _My dear, something ails you. I can sense it. Be frank with me._ "

" _My king, it is no serious matter. I did not sleep well the previous night and such deprivation is showing, that is all it is. I am not ill._ "

" _You know you can disclose anything to me. I am your husband and it is my duty to make you comfortable and happy. Name it and it shall be yours_."

You wanted the truth. But you sensed he would never willingly divulge it to you. This was something you needed to do on your own. Whenever you'd get to the root of this evil riddle, then you would have your words with the Witch-king. When you acquired your proof, then you would make your move.

" _I thank you for your concern but I am fine. Please, don't fret. I am only weary and I would like to retire._ "

He knew something was tormenting you. But he wouldn't push the matter further. The chief of the Nine only nodded his head and walked away. He didn't wish to propagate discord between the two of you. He exited your quarters and granted you the peace you claimed you needed.

And shortly after he departed, you made your move.

As you traveled deeper into the underbelly of Minas Morgul, the smell became stronger. It had an acrid element to it. It almost was like an aroma you could taste and from what you could perceive, it tasted wretched. It smelled somewhat like iron, if that was possible.

After a few minutes of slow, careful navigation, you reached the bottom of the stairs. Just as the rumors hinted, there was indeed a long hallway. And at the end of the corridor, there was a door. Two torches were lit right beside the door.

"Courage," you quietly whispered to yourself. "You are almost there. Don't falter."

There weren't as many torches in this hallway in comparison to the one upstairs. But you could manage. Your eyes were adjusted to the inhospitable conditions and you could navigate. At least you could see the door.

Just as you did before, you carefully advanced, putting one foot out in front of the other. The tip of your foot prodded in front of its path carefully, trying to not trip over anything in the darkness. The last thing you needed was to fall and hurt yourself. Or even worse, alert anyone of your presence.

You recalled that Morgoth did have a manner of horrific and strange beasts in his employ. There were dragons, Balrogs, werewolves, Orcs and other creatures of the dark powers. Vampires were included in his service as well. But from what you understood, those creatures were banished or extinguished with the razing of Morgoth's mighty stronghold during the War of Wrath.

What you didn't comprehend was how the Nazgûl were akin to these vampires. They were born Men and yes, they were corrupted and remade into Wraiths. But it didn't make sense. How did they possess this trait? Or was this perhaps a side effect or by-product of being corrupted by Sauron? They had become creatures of death and they fed off of the blood and fear of others.

The smell became more overpowering. It assaulted your senses and you silently gagged on the residual taste. More and more, it smelled like fermented iron, if that even was possible.

Closer and closer, you came to the door. Your heart raced faster in your chest. Your breathing became shallower and more rapid. A cold sweat formed on your skin and the hairs on the back of your neck pricked upwards. The more logical part of you urged you turn around, to come away and abandon this dark venture. But you needed to complete this errand. You had to. For the sake of sanity and closure, you had to do this or you would go insane.

You almost tripped on your feet when you heard voices. For a moment, you halted, instinctually holding your ground while you evaluated the situation. The voices were quiet and hushed but also harsh. They sounded familiar and you could tell they were speaking softly intentionally. You couldn't understand what they were saying.

You took a shaky breath and you willed yourself to continue. There was no turning back. Your fingers nervously curled around the hilt of your weapon, ready to unsheathe it at any moment.

After a moment, you finally made it to the door. You didn't realize until you were at it that it was just barely opened. Now you could hear the voices a little more clearly.

As stealthily and silently as possible, you tried to squeeze through the crack in the door. It was nigh impossible and you had to open it further than what you wanted in order to enter. The door was a merciful being and its hinges didn't creak or alert the voices to your presence.

When you entered the room, you beheld a grim sight. There were huge, wooden barrels all lined up against the wall. You were sickened by the thought of what insidious liquid aged into those dark colored barrels. You could only imagine how many Orcs and Men it took to fill up just one of these massive vessels. In all, there were twelve of the ponderous objects lined against the stone wall.

At this point, it was obvious where the pungent odor was coming from. It all originated from in this room. This was the wine cellar of Sauron's greatest servants. In this room, the Vine of Morgoth was produced.

You were snapped out of your horror and amazement when you heard the voices again. For a moment, you almost forgot about them since you were so invested in the barrels and their theoretical, ghastly contents.

"This will do in the meantime," one of voices said. "This is the choicer vine."

"As long as it is no crude, bitter Orc, I care not," the other retorted. "I have grown so weary of their ilk. They are coarse, unappetizing and all around putrid."

Their raspy, harsh voices were a dead giveaway. These were two Nazgûl conversing amongst themselves.

Taking a chance, you dashed over to the wall where the barrels were lined up. You wedged yourself between two of the massive objects and then turned around, trying to see if you could espy the two Wraiths. You peered down in the direction where you were sure you heard them.

When you did that, you witnessed an unspeakable sight. There were indeed two Nazgûl standing together. At their feet sat some sort of container than reminded you of a marble bathing vessel. To your horror, there was someone inside that vessel. The light was somewhat sparse but from what you could see, there was an Easterling woman inside it. She was bound and a cloth was wrapped around her mouth, preventing her from making any noise. As you strained to listen to them closer, you could hear her muffled cries.

A cold wave of fear washed over you and you sunk to your knees. You were thoroughly mortified all you could do was stare on in shock.

"Khamûl must not know of this!" one snarled. "He has his preferences and he does not like to imbibe in women from his own lineage."

"What the Black Easterling doesn't know, won't hurt him," the other one laughed. "Why, we're only harvesting this creature and we'll pour her into one of the barrels."

"Let us remove this bothersome cloth. I do believe she has something to tell us."

One of the Nazgul removed the cloth from her mouth. As soon as she did that, she let out a piercing, loud shriek. She wailed and screamed, floundering around in the tub, trying to escape and distance herself away from the two monsters who abducted her. Tears streaked down her eyes, marring her eyeliner and making it run. She rambled and cried in her native tongue. Though you couldn't understand her, you felt as if you knew what she was saying.

"Now, now, there is no crying!" one said mockingly. "You knew what you were getting yourself into by straying from your husband's side… You should've remained in his tent when he was busy with his emissary duties in Barad-dur."

"Enough of this," the other corrupted king hissed. "I am parched for a woman's life blood."

His armored hand clamped around her neck and the Easterling continued to struggle and scream in reckless abandon. With his sharpened fingertips, he traced along the area of her neck where her vital artery lay.

"This Vine of Morgoth belongs to us," he snarled deeply.

With one clean, fluid motion of his claw-like fingers, he slit her neck. Blood began to pour out in copious amounts now that the blood vessel was cleaved wide opened and exposed. The woman stopped struggling but she gagged and her eyes were opened widely.

One of the Wraiths held a silver chalice up to her throat, catching the red liquid. When he filled his gory cup, he began to drink. As he retreated, his comrade leaned into the woman's neck and began to greedily feed. He bit into her neck, creating a sickening crunch as he did it. A larger opening was created and now even more blood started to flow freely.

This was the most horrible thing you had ever seen. Your heart and soul sunk and you felt guilty, watching this poor woman perish in such an inhumane and beastly manner. You could physically feel the color and warmth leave your face and you were chilled to the bone. You couldn't blink, move or even breathe. You were constricted by terror and all you could do was look on.

You knew these creatures were capable of foul things. Earlier, you had hoped this was all some exaggerated, Orcish campfire story of sorts designed to scare someone and explain the disappearances that cropped up in Minas Morgul. Oh, did you wish that this was only a twisted fabrication. But this was too real. The Ringwraiths really were responsible for these atrocities.

You got your evidence. Your quest was fulfilled and now you had to leave. But you were so afraid that you found it impossible to move. Now you felt as if you had seen something you were never meant to.

It felt like an age but you finally found your resolve. You willed yourself to look away and move from your hiding spot. Your limbs felt limp and numb. Your hands shook uncontrollably. It was difficult to walk but you managed it.

The two Nazgûl were invested in their feeding. The Easterling woman was clearly dead at this point. At least it seemed like she expired quickly.

You were going to go straight to your quarters, lock the doors and remain there for days if you could get away with it. There was also no way you were going to let your husband in if it could be allowed as well. He was just like them. You had seen what these two Wraiths did to that poor woman. It would only be a matter of time before you would end up like her.

Then you condemned yourself. Your shaky feet caused you to slip on a stretch of moist floor and you nearly tripped. But unfortunately, it created noise.

The blood cellar was deathly silent. You were so reluctant to look up and face the feeding Nazgûl. Without even looking back, you could feel their eyeless stares piercing you.

When you finally forced yourself to look up, your heart almost stopped beating. Indeed, they heard you and now they were peering right back at you. You could only gaze in return, almost hoping they would ignore you and resume their business.

"It is a delight for you to join us, Morgul lady!" the Wraith with the chalice greeted you. "We weren't expecting a guest to join us!"

"'Tis an honor for the bride of our leader to join us!" the bloodstained Nazgûl cackled. "Come closer, my lady! I promise, I won't bite!"

"Perhaps the Witch-king has urged you to try our special wine? Come forth, I will pour a glass for you. Sit and drink with us!"

"I-I am sorry, my lords…" you choked out. "I got lost and I clearly have the wrong room. I shan't intrude, I will be on my way."

"This is not a request, woman. This is an order." He tossed his head back and hastily consumed the last of the blood in the vessel. Then he threw it aside where it loudly clattered on the stone floor a second later. "Your greedy husband will not interfere this time."

The both of them hissed loudly and then strode after you. As soon as they made their move, you suddenly found the ability to run. You nearly slid on the floor again but you willed yourself to remain upright and focused. They were coming after you and if you weren't fast and strong enough, you were going to wind up like that poor woman. You refused to share her fate.

You swung the door open and then slammed it shut behind you, hoping that something like that would impede their progress even by a mere second. Every shred of time mattered in this flight. With as much haste as you could muster, you ran down the dark hallway, heading straight to the stairs. You had to get out of this festering pit alive and that was what mattered the most.

Unfortunately, they were close behind you. A few seconds after you closed the door, you swore you heard it being torn off its hinges. You even heard the entire thing thud onto the floor loudly and mixed in with that was the sound of their hisses and armored feet on the cold floor.

Desperately, you clambered up the stairs, trying to put as much distance between yourself and the pursuing Nazgûl. A few times, you nearly tripped up the stairs in your fevered escape. But you forced yourself to keep going, knowing full well what was going to happen if they caught you. The last time you were aware, you very much wanted to remain alive. Your life wasn't ideal but it could've been far worse.

"She is running!" one of them cried out. "That means her blood will flow all the more quickly! This will be an absolute delight! Run faster, Morgul lady!"

These demons delighted in the thrill of the hunt. The thing they craved the most was you.

You drew your dagger and held it close to your side. They were getting closer. You could've sworn you could smell the warm blood on their cold, lifeless lips. You knew you required more potent and specific weapons to seriously hurt them but you hoped what you had would be enough to possibly deter or halt their progress.

"Just a small bite!" the other called. "Enough to sample!"

Finally, you made it to the top of the stairs. Now all you had to do was make it to the door and then you would be welcomed into the now somewhat less frightening whole of Minas Morgul.

You shuddered to think just how many people had been sacrificed to their unholy thirst over the years. For over four thousand years, they afflicted Middle Earth. There was no telling what destruction and death they had caused. Perhaps they had created seas of blood in their wake. They preyed upon enemies and allies alike. Even the Orcs under their command lived in fear and apprehension of being fed upon.

You wished you uncovered this ghoulish truth far earlier. Perhaps, you would have reacted differently to all of this if you were aware of it.

"Come here!" one of them boomed. "Filthy Dúnedain wench, come here! You will obey a true king!"

You could feel the tips of his clawed fingers graze your shoulder. As soon as you perceived that sensation, you spun around. Then you lifted your dagger and drove it into his chest, letting him run into it.

You didn't stop to fully survey the damage you dealt but you could tell that he stopped. His footfalls were silenced and you heard a strangled snarl come from him. There was no way something like this could kill him but it would buy you some time. Being granted immunity to the Black Breath was something you had come to view as a valued perk. Due to your marriage, you were now immune to the Nazgûl's debilitating aura. It was a very welcome thing in this dire hour.

Your hands fumbled for the doorknob and you pushed it open. You pushed through it and attempted to shove it closed behind you but to your horror, the uninhibited Nazgûl was right behind you. You only served to anger him when the door smacked against his head and he let out an annoyed hiss.

"This foolish flight ends here!" he said.

He was larger, faster and stronger than you were. You only had one dagger on you and other than that, you were helpless.

You let out a scream when you felt him grab you forcefully. Although his robes were black, you could see they were moistened and he reeked of the spilt blood of the Easterling. On his gauntlets, her crimson fluid was copiously smeared. The red stained Wraith then roughly tossed you onto the ground.

"She is lucky we cannot kill her as easily as others of her kind," the injured one chimed in. He pried the blade from his chest and tossed it aside, acting as if it was nothing. "She may be immune to our Breath, but she can be killed like any other mortal."

The bloodstained one descended upon you, intent on pinning you and ripping into your neck. You lashed out with one of your feet, kicking him in the jaw and snapping his head upwards from the harsh impact. It jarred him for a moment but it didn't stop him.

"Don't drain her here," the stabbed Nazgul instructed. "Let us take her to the cellar and do it there. Gather what we can of the Easterling and place this one in the tub. Blood of the Northern Dúnedain is a rarity. I do not want her taste sullied and ruined!"

"That will take too long!" the other argued. "We don't have much time!"

"We must be somewhat discreet! You know this! We have discussed this!"

While they argued over the best way to bleed you out, you slowly tried to crawl away. You were half tempted to cry out and scream for help but you knew it was a lost cause. Any nearby Orcs would face a dilemma. They were subservient to all the Nazgûl and wouldn't know how to react to the situation. Not only that, most of them were terrified of their undead commanders and didn't want to be harvested for the Vine.

You took a chance and stood up. You weren't able to run six feet without having one of their hands clamp on your shoulder. Firmly, one pulled you to him and set his other hand around your mouth, muzzling you and drowning out your noise. You screamed and flailed with all your might, trying to fight against him and liberate yourself.

"To the cellar," your captor instructed his companion. "Let us make haste."

The drenched Nazgul snarled in anger and his hands trembled. He glared daggers at his comrade, clearly irked that he had to wait.

"It is because I am the least of us all!" he ranted. "Otherwise, you would not treat me like your flea bitten cur! If I had the power…!"

He was brutally silenced when he was suddenly struck in the side with a mighty, spiked flail. The Nazgûl shrieked in alarm and dismay and he was propelled clear across the other side of the mess hall. He slammed against the wall and then collapsed into a wheezing heap onto the floor, barely moving and clearly out of the foray.

You and your captor were stunned by the violent abruptness of this attack on the Wraith. The both of you looked up, seeing the Witch-king standing menacingly. His flail was raised and poised and his posture was tall and looming. His free hand was pointed at you.

"Release her, now," he demanded.

You expected your captor to hesitate yet were surprised but thankful he released you without delay. It appeared to you that he knew when he was outclassed. He didn't want to challenge the Witch-king, let alone face his wrath.

As soon as he freed you from his grasp, you hurried away and stood behind the Wraith you called your husband. You were petrified and were gracious that he had stepped in and delivered you from this fate.

"I have made a grievous mistake," the lesser Nazgûl shrunk back.

"Indeed," the lord of the Wraiths agreed.

He struck his underling in the same way he did with the other. The Nazgûl was sent flying through the air by the fell flail and he joined his companion on the floor in shame and defeat.

If this was a normal Man, he would've been torn to pieces by these blows. But the Nazgûl wouldn't and couldn't be killed so easily. They were far sturdier and required more specific means to cripple them.

"Retreat to our chambers," he said without looking back at you. "I must remind them of a few realities they have forgotten about. I will explain everything to you when I return."

"Yes," you gulped nervously.

You weren't going to wait around and see what more would happen. Without wasting another moment, you hurried out of the mess hall and ran off towards your rooms. There was no way you wished to be present any longer than necessary. All you desired was to be away from these creatures. You were haunted and shaken from the ordeal and you wanted nothing more than to hide.

You ran harder and faster when you heard two, pain-filled screams ring out at the same. You extended no pity to them.


	2. Concerning Vampires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You had to have words with him regardless of the horror you saw in the cellar.

Chapter 2 Concerning Vampires

"I would have appreciated a warning far sooner!"

The Orc looked entirely apologetic and ashamed. He wrung his hands together and looked at the floor, unable to meet your angered, frightened and betrayed eyes. Though he was assigned to serve you and be your guide when need be, he had certain guidelines and rules he had to abide by. This was an instance where he played by one of those laws and now he was faced with your wrath.

"It was my master's insistence to not disclose such a delicate and potentially deadly matter," he replied. "You must understand, my lady, I was instructed to leave you in the dark about it."

"Deadly!" you annunciated. "Oh, so now you realize how dire the situation is!"

You scoffed harshly and remained planted in the same position you were sitting in for nearly an hour. You were seated on the middle of the bed and your knees were pulled up to your chest. Arms encircled around your knees, pulling yourself into some defensive but futile position that made your feel safer. Next to you sat another dagger you managed to confiscate.

"Berwûld, I almost met my doom not even an hour ago!" you ranted. "I watched two of the Nazgûl slit a woman's throat and then saw them proceed to drink her blood! They chased me and they almost made me share her fate!"

"I was to obey the Witch-king's command, my lady," he said, expressing his regret. "I am sorry, I truly am. He didn't want to tell the truth for fear it would get out of hand…"

You were angered, terrified and confused all at the same time. In the beginning of your stay, you had perceived Berwûld would be more honest and open with you about the workings of Minas Morgul and the true nature of its dominant inhabitants. You already knew what manner of creatures you were dealing with but this new, fell knowledge of the Nazgûl made it all the more sinister. The fact that they wanted to kill you and feed off of your very essence made everything that much harder to endure. It made you feel vulnerable, scared and utterly defenseless.

"Berwûld," you addressed him. There was a pleading tone in your voice. "Berwûld, I will not ask you this question as your master but as someone who is truly at your mercy…" You sniffled and wiped away the tears that threatened to spill over your eyelids. "Please, you have to tell me the truth with this question. I know you are the Witch-king's favorite and most devoted servant in Minas Morgul. I will not tarnish your title and he will not know what I wish to ask of you."

You could see Berwûld visibly tense. Clearly, he was nervous and you could tell he was beginning to dread what was on your lips. His posture was rigid and he almost seemed like he was afraid to blink.

"What will you ask of me, my lady?" he pondered.

"Be truthful and honest with me," you begged. "Please, my life may very well depend on it." You exhaled shakily and rocked subtly on the bed. "Berwûld, is he going to kill me? Am I going to end up like that Easterling woman?"

To your surprise, there was no hesitation or delay after you posed that question to him. Berwuld shook his head and inched closer, standing at the foot of the bed.

"No," he said. "No, he has no desire to drain you. If he had any wish, he would've done so a long time ago, my lady. This is the truth and I shan't conceal it from you."

Genuinely, you were relieved and happy that he divulged this to you. You could feel relief wash over you like a cold jug of water on a hot, summer day.

But some shadow of doubt lingered in you. This was indeed Minas Morgul, the dreaded neighbor of the Black Land. You were in the company of terrible and wicked souls; souls that were your foes from your very birth. Perhaps Berwûld was instructed to lead you on, to deceive you. Maybe he was to lure you into a false sense of security for whatever hidden, nefarious reason. It was very likely he was following some vile order at the behest of his undead master.

You wouldn't lower your guard so easily. You wouldn't make the mistake of trusting someone in this citadel of the damned so blindly anymore. From now on, you would always be ready to fight or flee. And your eyes would wander more often in an effort to root out some means of escape. No longer could you be so vulnerable. The next time, there was a chance you wouldn't be as lucky. You would end up in that accursed tub in the cellar.

Truly, you had been delivered from the literal jaws of the two Nazgûl by their leader. But as these thoughts hounded you, you began to fear him now. You began to perceive him as a threat and quite possibly, an enemy once again. Perhaps he did mean to savor you for himself and did not intend to share with his brothers in arms.

"I am afraid," you whispered. "I am so foolish as well."

"You are safe within these chambers," the Orc said evenly and calmly. "There is no safer place in all of Minas Morgul for you to reside in."

Or more dangerous. Fear began to infiltrate your inner thoughts more and more.

And you were certain you would never be able to stomach wine again.

"Do not fear any longer," Berwûld encouraged you. "My lord has spared you and he has undoubtedly severely punished the two who could not restrain themselves. They know you are off limits and yet they acted against his decree."

"And his decree?" you pushed.

"That you are not to be drained. That you are untouchable and are not drink."

"Then what is my purpose?"

Berwûld stared back at you with his remaining eye. He seemed caught off guard by your question. He blinked, looking unsure of how to answer it.

"I was unsure of your purpose at first when you arrived here over a year earlier," he admitted. "I will not lie, in the beginning, I thought you were branded as an especial treat for him. But very quickly, I learned I was wrong. All of those he intended to feed upon are treated far less kindly than you are. Unlike the other Nazgûl, he does not play games with his…food. If he means to kill you and drain you, he will. If he does not, then you will live. And neither does he become attached to his prey. My lady, you are his wife. I know he is very fond of you."

There was no time to consider and fully absorb Berwûld's words. You almost reeled backwards off the bed when you heard the door in the foyer open and then close. The sound of armored feet on stone floor rang out.

He was approaching.

Your eyes grew larger and a shaky gasp slipped past your lips. Like a cornered, frightened animal, you retreated from the bed and pressed yourself against the wall on the far side of the room. A window was only a few feet away from you and if necessary, you were going to clamber out of it if you could manage it. You refused to take a chance. You refused to suffer a terrible fate.

The sight of the tall Wraith in his shadowy garb made your heart quail. You grabbed the dagger off of the bed, forgetting about it momentarily in your panic. You wouldn't threaten him with it yet but you were going to if he became too close for your comfort.

"Stay yourself!" you warned. "Take no step further!"

The Witch-king did just that, more surprised and alarmed to see you reacting in this way. His invisible eyes turned to Berwûld, demanding an answer from his servant.

"S-she is shaken from the incident, my lord!" Berwûld explained, sensing his master's steadily mounting wrath. He shrunk back, looking pitiful and submissive. "I have tried to reason with her but she is understandably scarred from what she has experienced! Please, do not become cross with either of us!"

"You have failed at placating and assuring her," he hissed. "I am not pleased and I am still infuriated over the brashness of my underlings. Berwûld, I demand more answers!"

"She is afraid of you, sire!"

The Witch-king paused. He turned his attention back to you. As clear as could be, he saw the terror radiating from you. Berwûld wasn't lying about that in the slightest bit. You appeared to be quite shaken from the whole ordeal.

This couldn't be allowed to persist. He endeavored to fix this.

"You are dismissed, Berwûld," he ordered his servant without even turning to face him. "I must have words with my wife and you need not be here. Leave."

He wasted no time and he immediately hurried out. Some part of you ached for his company. Even though you didn't trust Berwûld exactly in this situation, his presence somewhat soothed you. You two were alike in the regards that the both of you were prey. You both were fearful of being demoted and used for the unholy Vine.

The Witch-king made no move until he heard Berwûld leave your chambers. Once that was done, he devoted his full attention to you. But he did not advance.

"This was wrought from my doing," he said. "Come forth, my dear."

In response, you raised the dagger at him. It wouldn't hurt him like the other Nazgul but you still wanted to let him know you weren't jesting. You were very much afraid and you demanded your answers and space.

Wordlessly, he sat down in the nearest chair. He didn't take his eyes off you and he remained quiet and calm, showing you that he meant no harm. While he was still very much angered with the whole incident, he did not wish to divert any of that negative energy towards you.

"You lied to me," you accused. You didn't lower your weapon.

"I did," he admitted.

"I almost perished because of that lie!"

"I didn't anticipate you'd throw yourself into such a dangerous and foolish investigation. You are very lucky that I grew suspicious and I took matters into my own hands."

"You lied to me and you forced Berwûld to trick me as well! If you had only divulged these matters, perhaps things would've played out differently!"

"I went to those measures to protect you."

"And look what happened!"

You snorted indignantly. The blade was still poised.

"Now I regret that action," he continued. "I regret being dishonest it."

"When one drinks a foul red or black liquid and says it isn't wine, the other must stop and wonder what on earth is in that cup!" you spat out, exasperated.

The lord of the Nazgûl fell silent again. He growled quietly, sounding almost annoyed.

"I withheld the truth because I did not wish to fill you with even more fear," he explained. "I did not want you to find even more motivation to flee."

"If you had only told me the truth, I would've been more prepared and less frightened," you said, feeling frustrated and weary.

"Firstly, you must be made aware of a few, crucial things, my wife. Those two miserable creatures that attacked you and fully intended to consume you? They are at the bottom of our order. They are the weakest of the Nazgûl. They are weakest in terms of their power and in their ability to control their thirst. At times, I forget they were once Men when they act like rabid animals."

That was an interesting bit of information. You recalled the comment the bloodstained wraith blurted out to his comrade earlier. That did seem to make sense.

"So, it is safe to reason that as the chief of the Nazgûl, you are able to control yourself the best?" you deduced. "You are able to keep these urges to feed at bay?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I still have that same, burning desire as the others but I can exercise better poise and grace than them. I still must feed if it becomes great enough, that I cannot deny or stave for too long."

"How many people…no how many Orcs, Men and countless other souls did you sacrifice?"

The fact that he didn't answer told you everything. You assumed it was an atrocious count yet it was possibly more egregious than you imagined. There was simply no telling how many died over the years. Perhaps it was even safe to say they preyed on Elves during the past Age was well. There was far more of their number back in those days.

"You are disgusted with me," he stated.

It was not an accusation. He said those words as if it was a solid, age-old fact.

"I am confused and scared," you countered. "I only want the truth and nothing else."

"If that is what you want, that is what you shall receive," he agreed. "Now that the truth has so rudely and gruesomely unveiled itself, it deserves an explanation. Speak, dear wife."

Now that he was agreeing to discuss this matter with you, you weren't sure where to begin. Mentally, you fumbled, trying to think of something. Your mind was in a fog and you found it hard to shake yourself out of it. That terror maintained an iron grip on you.

"Is it true that you and the others find the blood of women to be the most tasteful?" you asked.

"The blood of Orcs are at the bottom of the list along with that of beasts," he said. "And yes, we do feed upon birds and beasts if no other is available. Above Orcs are Men. And above Men are women of the race of Men. At the very top of our preferred prey are Elves. Curiously, their blood tastes the same regardless of whether they be male or female."

It was indeed a grim topic but you needed to know these things. You needed to fully understand the being whose hand was intertwined with yours.

"How did you become dependent on such a fluid?" you pressed. Slowly, you lowered your dagger.

"It was not by choice," he said, almost snarling. "It is merely a cost of becoming enslaved by my master and being immersed in his dark ways. I did not experience this thirst until after my ring completely bound me to the Dark Lord. When it did happen…" He fell silent for a moment. "I was no better than the other two in that instant. He encouraged us to imbibe in the blood of others, telling us it was part of our nature now. It was to be our food and our drink forever. I hate it but I also desire it."

"And how sated are you now?"

"After dealing with those two swine, I partook in a serving to help deny any lingering cravings."

Perhaps that was a good thing. That meant he would be less likely to view you as prey.

"What of me?" you asked. You sat down on the edge of the bed, becoming a little more settled but still cautious. "What am I to you? Speak plainly and in the truth! No more lies!"

The seemingly empty hood stared back at you. The Witch-king's helm titled to the side subtly as he studied you.

"You are my wife," he confessed. "I would not go through the measures that I have only to butcher you in the end of it all. If I wanted your life, I would have smote you on that dark, quiet, country road in the West. No. I sought you because of your uncanny likeness to the woman from long ago. I brought you here and then I wed you. I am partial towards you. I would never view you as something to be harvested. I would rather drink Orc blood for the rest of time itself."

As you calmed down further, you could perceive him through the shared bond you established with him. You could sense that he was concerned. He almost seemed like he was worried. You wouldn't have guessed that he was until you felt him with your heart.

"What of the two Wraiths?" you asked.

"They will never even look at you again unless if I give them permission to do so," he said. "They needed to be brutalized and reminded of why I am their king and they are curs. Those two will never lay a hand on you from now on. I do believe them being throttled into submission and humiliated is ample enough. If they attempt such a thickheaded plot again, I will see to it that they get no sustenance and they will be driven into madness."

"If you are deprived of your drink long enough, that is what will happen?"

"Indeed. Starving a Nazgûl of his drink will not kill him. Oh, no. It will only drive him out of his wits and cause him to experience great physical pain and torment. And the only cure for that? Blood."

"Has that happened to you?"

"Yes."

"What was the cause of that?"

"For losing my kingdom in the North. Although I had destroyed Arnor and eradicated most of its Dúnedain inhabitants, it wasn't good enough according to my master. I was forced to forsake Angmar and those lands when those wretched Elves and bothersome Gondorians interfered." The growl that came from him was deep and rattling. "I came crawling back to where he lurked in Dol Guldur and he punished me for losing my kingdom despite fulfilling his wishes of ruining the northern Dúnedain." He lowered his head. "He cast me into a stinking, deep, black pit and starved me for five years."

In the eyes of the Nazgûl, five measly years was probably nothing compared to them. But judging from the anger and pain in his voice, five years without their precious drink sounded like pure torture. Even though he claimed he exercised the best restraint out of all of them, you could only imagine what he had been reduced to while he was punished.

"Once he deemed that I languished enough in that loathsome hole long enough," he explained further, "he sent in a group of twenty, newly created Orcs to engage in…training exercises. I hunted down and killed every single one of those Orcs. I ripped them to pieces with nothing more than my teeth and my hands and I feasted."

You were moved to pity when you heard that tale. While you should have been repulsed by the morbid account, your heart softened at him. You knew this was no ruse as the bond revealed how he really felt.

"After I had feasted and was freed, Sauron gave me another task," the Witch-king went on. "He instructed me to return to Mordor and then take Minas Ithil. I obeyed and I completed both tasks. Then some time after I converted Minas Ithil into Minas Morgul, the head of the Gondorian charge that helped ruined my kingdom, Eärnur, became king." He folded his hands together. "I needed my revenge. I suffered and became a mindless beast because of him. I was never going to forgive him for that offense. I issued my challenge and he declined. I was enraged but I bided my time, deciding to make use of it. I repeated it again seven years later and to my sheer delight, he accepted."

It was a dark and infamous day for Minas Tirith when its brash, stalwart king accepted the challenge from the Morgul lord. He rode out with his company of knights to honor the challenge. Neither the king or any of his knights ever returned. It was assumed they were most likely all killed but some held out on some hope that Eärnur would emerge one day.

But days turned to weeks. Weeks became months. Months melted into years. Years transformed into decades. And finally, decades faded into centuries.

The Gondorians held out on the belief that their king would be recovered. Your people, the Dúnedain of Arnor, knew the truth. They knew that he was lost and dead. The Witch-king wanted his revenge and he finally got it.

"What became of Eärnur?” you asked. You had a feeling you were going to regret that question but you needed to know. Your curiosity had taken possession of you and demanded to be sated.

"We kept him alive," he retorted. "We slaughtered his company of knights without much thought for Eärnur was the true prize. We Wraiths knew that the blood of a king, especially one descended from Númenor, was a rare luxury. It was a collective, unanimous agreement that we wanted to preserve him for as long as possible and relish it. We kept him alive and drained his life from him for ten years. Eventually, his body could no longer take the stress and his spirit broke as well. He perished in that cellar."

Your jaw hung open. The thought of ten years of being used as a source of food was simply nightmarish. More than anything else, you were amazed at how Eärnur managed to survive for as long as he did. It was more than likely the Nazgûl treated him decently in order to let him live long enough so he could produce enough blood for them.

"Now, you understand that there is a side to us you had no idea existed until an hour earlier," the Witch-king said. "You finally understand why I hid such things from you. I'm sure you feel like a silly, foolish maiden for prying into such insidious and wicked matters."

"You've been wanting to disclose these things to me," you remarked. "That much I can sense. You have had no one to talk to about it."

"Stay your pity, my dear. It is useless on me."

"A little compassion and pity never hurt anyone. I lament over the knowledge that you are governed by such devilish desires atop being lorded by such an uncouth, insensitive master."

"I accepted my ring blindly and foolishly. I was young and stupid when I did it and I paid sorely for it. It is finished. This is my fate for willingly taking that gift."

It was a lot to take in and come to terms with. Yes, the things he told you were odious and disturbing but they were the truth just as you wished. Now you felt some peace after discovering these things. You were enlightened and wiser. You knew exactly what you were dealing with. It was daunting and alarming but now you knew how to proceed a little easier.

"Thank you," you said. "Thank you for telling me these things. I appreciate the clarity I know have."

"To conceal the matter further would be senseless," the Witch-king replied. "It would give you a greater reason to hate me."

"I do not hate you."

"Perhaps a little less than when we first met."

"That is not true."

"I have ferried you away from your beloved family and your charming home. I have brought you to this stony, shadowy abode and you joined your hand with mine. You have every reason to curse and deplore me."

In the beginning, it was too true. At that point, you did not know him so intimately. You only knew of him through the legends, tales and stories you were regaled and read to. Indeed, you feared and hated him and you lamented over being his prisoner.

But as you discovered the nature of the Nazgûls' enslavement and their perpetual misery, it greatly changed your opinion of them. They were hopelessly chained to the will of their cruel master and they were fully aware of their circumstances. They obeyed because they literally had no choice. You learned there was far more to them. The legends only provided a fraction of the actual story. There was far more to them than you ever thought possible. You were only particularly familiar with the Witch-king but you had no doubt in your mind that the other Wraiths were just as complex and tormented as their chief.

As time passed and you learned more about him, you swore you saw faint shreds of whom he once was, from so long ago. The two of you spoke of many things over the days you spent together and it felt as if you knew him far longer than almost two years.

In your eyes, he was not your enemy. The real foe was hidden away within the sweltering, darkened halls of Barad-dûr.

"I do not hate you," you repeated. You set your dagger down on the bed and rose up. "But can you blame someone who is unfamiliar and afraid? Can you blame the ignorant until they have been properly learned?"

"You speak nonsense," he dismissed, his attitude dour and bitter.

"Nor am I afraid of you anymore."

His stare hardened.

"Perhaps Berwûld was right," he noted. "Perhaps you have been scarred and broken from seeing such things."

"I am not as fragile and dainty as you assume," you countered. "I know you. Maybe you don't know me."

Something between a snarl and a scoff came from him. He left the chair, standing up but he held his ground. He straightened his posture, propping himself up to his full, imposing height.

"I know you quite well," he said. You swore you could hear the grim smile in his voice. "You are stubborn, too stubborn. Almost as stubborn as an enraged, brain damaged troll. You are also sharp and learned in your areas of passion… But even with all of that bountiful knowledge, you fail to see how deplorable I am."

"Intelligence is also defined by your ability to adapt and process new information," you debated. "I am smart enough to know the truth or at least guess it." You strode forward, approaching him. "Allow me to prove it."

The Witch-king maintained his pose, waiting for you to come closer. His eyes never looked away from your shape. You amused and vexed him at times. But that was something that he found endearing about you.

He desired you greatly. And he desired you in more ways than one.

"That convenient little bond has also assured me," you said. "Fear can blind one and mar the truth. But when it is dispelled, you are all the wiser."

The tall, shrouded Man was motionless. He tilted his head downwards when you stopped mere inches away from him. He could find no words.

"I am not afraid of you," you reiterated. "And I do not hate you."

You reached up with one hand and stroked the side of his face. His face and features were totally unknown to you but you could feel he was misshapen and most likely unsightly. It did not repulse you. Things like this no longer made you uncomfortable.

Despite his massive and intimidating shape, he leaned into your touch. He followed the strokes of your hand and as you remained so close to him, you could hear the tiniest of hisses come from him. They were nonthreatening and seemed content more than anything else. He was soothed and at peace.

With your other hand, you grasped onto one of his. Gently, you walked away, guiding him to the bed.

"I know you do not sleep," you said, "but at least rest. Ignore the yoke of your master and focus only on this for a short while."

His answer was in the form of a soft but deep grunt. His hand was clasped around yours gingerly.

You sat down on the bed and moved over, making room for him. You outstretched your arms to him, inviting him to find solace in them. The Nazgûl seemed puzzled at first but he obliged a second later. He accepted your request and slowly laid back, almost looking as if he was unsure how to do it.

"Come to me," you softly entreated him.

He was heavy but not uncomfortable nor crushing you. He rested his hooded head against your collarbone. Your arms encircled around his trunk, holding him to you and wanting him to settle in your embrace.

"Rest," you urged.

A steady, gentle exhale came from him, sounding much like a long sigh. You could feel the tension inside of him melt away. The Witch-king was noticeably decompressing and it was an assuring sign. The anger, bitterness and pain started to gradually dissipate.

Steadily, your eyes shut, feeling lulled and relieved. You knew that as long as you were with him, the darkness was easier to endure. You kept close and held onto him, wanting him to experience this reprieve even if it was going to be so fleeting and momentary. For so long, he had no one.

You were about to doze off when you heard him speak a few minutes later. He said your name.

"Yes, my king?" you said, reopening your eyes.

He was gazing directly into your eyes. One of his armored hands rose up and he caressed your cheek.

"You are so precious to me," he said. "You are more precious to me than a dragon that lusts after its vast hoard. If I were to be free from my master, if it were within my power, I would follow you. I would follow you to wherever you may go. What you would call home, I would also call home. And I would stay with you. I would trade my thousands of years of existence for one mortal lifetime with you. It could be fifty years or one hundred, I care not…so long as I am your husband."

You stared back at him, in total shock of what he just confided to you. There was nothing you could say to answer him. All you could do was look at the Wraith, your mind wiped blank and unsure of what to do, say or even think. 

Before you knew it, a rosy warmth filled your cheeks. You weren’t thrilled with your body betraying you like this and hinting to your true feelings. There was simply no stopping them and your body reacted of it’s own accord. You felt ashamed and scandalized.

Of course you had to blush after he uttered those lovely and doting words. Of course he had to make your heart race and your stomach flutter. But you couldn't deny that you were very much attached to him. You accepted your role as his wife.

You heard the Witch-king let out a small laugh and he drew his face closer to yours. He pressed a kiss to your lips. 

"What a lovely color to add to an even lovelier face," he teased. "I am growing fond of making your face flush, my dear. And I can hear your heart dancing..." He chuckled playfully. "You may have made a mistake with luring me into your arms for now I am comfortable and want nothing more than to fluster my queen."

You laughed briefly and then groaned in dread. Yet while you did that, you smiled.

"You are a cruel man," you grinned. "And whatever have I done to warrant this foul fate?"

He kissed you again, making it last a little longer this time. His fingers ran through your locks, admiring the color and texture. He handled you tenderly and admiringly.  
  


"Fine, I shall be kind to you this time,” he murmured. “Perhaps I shall save the teasing for another opportunity. I am sure you want to rest after that disastrous incident.” He held one of your hands in his. He rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. “I know I am correct. Do not try to debate with me.”

You hummed quietly and nodded. Sleep sounded sublime.

"You will remain here?” you asked.

”For as long as I can,” he responded. “Sleep deeply and without a care in the world. I am here.”

It didn’t take long for you to succumb to the allure of slumber. You didn’t realize how weary you were until you continued to lay back and remain comfortable. Your body did need the rest to fully recuperate from that encounter. It was taxing and it drained you in body and spirit. The rooms you were in were your sanctuary and no Wraith would dare to trespass here especially if the Witch-king was present.

Berwûld was right. There was no safer place in Minas Morgul for you to be. 

It only took a matter of mere minutes before you ultimately drifted off. You lain vulnerable, your neck exposed with the blood-fed entity inches away.

But he did not hunger for you. He followed your example the best he could despite his conditions. His eyes were shut but he listened to you. The steady, resting rhythm of your heart and your slow breathing allowed him to experience some rare but much appreciated shred of serenity. It calmed him.

And never would he let your blood slip past his lips.


End file.
